


Primal Order

by MarvelousMaam



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dominant Bucky, Established Relationship, F/M, Hydra mentioned, Love, Lust, Pre-Infinity War, Pregnancy, Protective Bucky, Sexual Tension, Smut, Some Humor, dirty talk mentioned, mentioned sexual intercourse, some kinky stuff mentioned, tony blows up stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 07:56:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14930267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelousMaam/pseuds/MarvelousMaam
Summary: What's Bucky to do when his girlfriend won't leave a potentially dangerous scene? He goes all protective mode... too bad that The Winter Soldier takes this as his cue to take over. Some situations require special 'handling' after all.This is smutty. Not explicit or full fledged but it's dirty, yay! Probably would do with Mature rating... but to be sure.





	Primal Order

“Fuck!” I whisper. Until a few moments ago our training session had run smoothly. This spar had had the potency of being the first (in a long, long, long row) that I could’ve actually decided in my favor. And now… my eyes feel like they’ll pop out of their sockets any given moment as I watch the scene in front of me unfold, yet the most prominent feeling I can concentrate on beside my annoyance is that of pain. My bottom hurts really bad from hitting the cold gym floor mere seconds ago, where I’m now sprawled as I stare up into my sparring partners face.

His glare is cold and calculating. I swallow hard and finally a little bit of fear registers in my brain, my stomach churning.   
Through my hazy mind I still hear the fire alarm going off wildly and for a fraction of time I wonder whether Stark has set another of his labs on fire or if it was someone else for a change.

“Fuck!”, there’s nothing which would describe my situation any better and I cannot work my tongue around another set of words anyway.  
Maybe I should try, I muse.  
“B… Bucky?” I ask cautiously even though I know the answer.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”, the Winter Soldier asks quietly, almost embittered. Still I get the ominous feeling that I’m of some entertainment to him, although his facial expression remains indifferent as he scrutinizes me, trying to determine if I’m of any danger to him or not. I swallow once again and put up both of my hands in surrender, to make him believe me that I’m no threat.

His eyes leave my frame and I let go of a breath I hadn’t even realize I was holding.  
“What is this sound, woman?” He speaks up louder this time and I flinch. It’s unnerving to hear his voice pronounce every syllable monotonously.  
“It’s…uhm… the fire alarm!” I mumble but upon seeing a first expression pass his features I hastily add, “It’s probably nothing. Just one of Stark’s suits on fire… again!”  
I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“So, you are concluding that this alarm is trivial?”, there’s clearly a hint of doubt tilting his lips downwards.  
“If you want to put it like that: Yes!”  
Gaining a little courage, I let my hands fall back to my sides, I do not dare to attempt to get up though, in fear of the effect it might have on him.  
Not once do my eyes leave his towering frame and I watch as he stiffly turns around himself, taking his surroundings in.

“We are training?” he asks me and spares me a short glance.  
“We were training!” I try to imply that I do not wish to spar the Winter Soldier, who in that moment raises a questioning eyebrow.  
“Oh?” He looks bewildered and I can barely contain a sneer, his astonishment somehow unfitting. He has perceived my amusement nonetheless and he strides across to where I’m sitting.  
“Do my questions amuse you, woman?” His eyebrows furrow predatorily as he crouches directly in front of me, obscuring my line of vision. I gulp.

“N… no?” I ask helplessly and the frown he’s wearing ceases, though he still looks like a savage animal as he nods stiffly, clearly convinced that I’m not trying to harm him. Or maybe he thinks I’m a bumbling idiot, I chastise myself.   
“Good!” He stands again and practically thrusts his left hand into my face, making me cower and close my eyes. Seconds go by but the strike never comes and I blink to find his outstretched hand still there, waiting for me to grab it.

I’m not sure that I can actually stand, however I slip my right into the dangerously glinting metal, suspicious though more afraid of defying him. A sharp yank and I find myself upright, clinging desperately to the inflexible appendage which I find to be shockingly careful with my own comparatively delicate hand. He’s giving me no time to adjust though and I suddenly have to run on wobbly legs to keep up with his strut. I dare not ask where he takes me.

We pass the elevators, displays blinking “Out of Order” in bright red, reach the stairs and it’s then that he obviously looses patience with my stumble.  
“Are you hurt that you can’t walk, woman?” he practically barks, turning with a seething expression and breaking the hold he has on me. I back away a little but he leaves me no time to even take a full step or answer him. Once again he grasps me tightly, this time with both hands and I squeak as I find myself suddenly lifted up into the air. With a thump that pushes all of the air out my lungs, I plummet on his shoulder, hanging across it as if he was carrying a bag of flour.

“Where are you taking me?” it breaks out of me but I do not even dare to wiggle for a little more comfort. If I didn't known better, the dark bark he emits is a chuckle… but I know better, don’t I? Besides, his warm, right hand on my bum, it’s just there to steady the extra weight and balance it out, right?

Taking two or three steps at once, I tumble upon his shoulder and feel the soft skin on my rib cage bruise. If the situation was any different I might have even enjoyed the sight, right onto his firm bottom. I might even smack it.

We meet more scrambling people on our descend but he simply ignores them, rushing past them determinedly. His breathing comes a little faster as we pass the sign of tenth floor.

Holy… he’s carried me about fifty floors now and it doesn’t seem as if he’s going to stop before we reach ground level. I feel like some kind of trophy being carried away, or maybe more of a scared lamb bound for the butcher.

The alarm is still ringing loudly in my ear and I cannot help but wonder why nobody’s turned it off yet. Never did it take Tony that long to extinguish his disastrous failures.

We reach the ground and find the lobby bustling with people trying to get out while some firemen try to systematically lead the crowd and avoid chaos. Strange, this has never happened either. Unless…

The hand on my bottom tightens and I can hear the man below me growl in frustration as he turns in a circle, looking for a faster way outside.  
“Uhm…” I intelligently pipe up and would have liked to slap myself hard, the moment the sound passes my lips. Concentrate, silly girl.  
“There’s a side entrance through security office, right around the corner.” I mumble and some part of me hopes he hasn’t heard me. Of course he has.  
“Good girl!”  
I tense and feel my face flush hot. His hand on my behind gives a pat before it relaxes again and he hastens through a small mob of people and right into the security office. The door’s there, alright - I can hear him try to push it open swiftly but it seems the security officer’s locked it.

Abruptly I feel solid floor beneath my feet again and shuffle to catch myself from falling. The sound of metal upon metal screeches in my ear before I can even turn and then there’s a sharp gust of wind prickling on my still sweaty skin as the door concedes under the force that is James Buchanan Barnes and his Vibranium fist.  
Turning around I catch a glimpse of his huffing form, before he swiftly takes a hold of my hand and drags me out alongside him.

The sound of the alarm muffles but now there’s a lot of sirens all around us, a frightened, screaming mass of people on our right, as well as several helicopters above us, circling the tower. I can make out Tony zooming around, a red and gold flash in the air, trying to bring the situation under control - the only question remaining is what kind of situation we are facing.

A wrench on my hand reminds me of the dire situation that I’m currently in myself and before I can think about what I’m doing I lean back and stand my ground, glaring at the massive back of my capturer who subsequently turns around with a grim look at my audacity to defy him.  
A questioning eyebrow rises and I’m perturbed as to the needy feeling in my stomach, telling me to simply follow him and ask questions later… if at all. Yet this isn’t Bucky I recall, I should not trust him even if normalcy tells me otherwise.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask once again, trying to convey that I’m not leaving a scene where I might be of any help, especially if it concerns my friends, who as far as I know are still somewhere inside of a building that could be burning or worse.  
“Away!” he grumbles, turns and tugs at me but I won’t budge that easily. His frustration radiates around him and I observe a nearing fireman turn on his heel in fright even before he crosses an invisible ten yard line.

“I won’t let you take me that easily!” I declare proudly, not batting an eyelash although I’m internally battling with myself. Shouldn’t I feel petrified?  
He blinks, confused with me and apparently astounded. His lips open to form words only to find he knows not the correct way to react.  
“I will not be your willing hostage or… or anything the like.” I try to sound confident but I’m sure it comes out rather meek. Be it as it may, his mouth does open and close like a fish’s now. His grip on the other hand remains hard and leaves me no room to escape.  
Seconds tick by before the outburst that I anticipated; it’s incoherent and I’m positive not all English nor clean language.

His free hand rises and he rubs the bridge of his nose. It’s such normal gesture to watch him reenact that I momentarily believe I ripped him out of his program. When his eyes rise to meet mine I know that I have no such luck.  
“You will fucking comply, woman! I will take you somewhere safe and there you will remain until I say otherwise. If you dare refuse to conform…” A vein pops on his temple as he basically howls out his threat and I vaguely try to remember if it ever has before. I sneer, nonplussed and somehow find the courage to scream right back at him.  
“Why the hell should I trust you?” My right foot stomps the ground and I probably would have reprimanded myself for being childish, if in any other situation that is.   
I’ve never seen more fury and disbelief as in the small act of a cynically, tight-lipped rising of one corner of his mouth into a full fledged, smug smirk. Why does he even smirk? I’ve always imagined this side of him to be a perfectly immaculate uncaring and cold killer, a ghost of the man.

“You don’t know yet, do you?” he somehow manages to look complacent and the hot fury at my unwillingness to submit is replaced by something else. Although the urgency carves deep lines into his face. Rubbing his eyes, he let’s go of my hand and I let it fall to my side unceremoniously.  
“What are you talking about?” Doubt creeps into my voice and into my mind.  
His orbs open to take me in, looking like a starving man amidst the spreading chaos around us. He holds out his hand for me to take again.

“Will you trust me, please?” His question is softly articulated, bare any anger and stirs up feelings I wouldn’t think possible for him in this state of mind. It is not a voice full of love, he is not that person right now and I may not trust him but I have faith in him. Somehow I believe that the Winter Soldier has some reason to try and protect me. He’s never taken a life when not ordered to and there is nobody who holds that kind of control over him anymore. I take his hand and let myself be guided away in a daze.

He leads me through the busy streets, not stopping once until reaching an inconspicuous building that is obviously made up of partly apartments on the upper floors and several small businesses onthe ground floor. An unsightly doorway in a back alley, stinking of urine, later I find myself in a two room apartment that I’m sure has never been one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s nor the Avengers’ safe houses. It’s a Hydra relict, I shudder realizing this while casting my eyes of the inside of the shabby accommodation.

“It was so close?” the question slips my lips as my fingertips dip into a thick layer of dust upon a chest of drawers. He grunts, puts the key away that had been hidden beneath a floor board in the hallway and turns to me, arms crossed over his broad chest.

He’s still in his training gear just as I am and I’m glad that he decided to wear something long-sleeved this morning. We would have caught more attention than we already did otherwise.  
I mimic his posture, trying to appear nonchalant even though all I can think about is the meaning of his words earlier. The realization on his features that I won’t be the first to break the silence is accompanied by a small sigh, barely audible. His stance loosens up, if only a little and he walks over to the small sitting area, deliberately taking a seat in the armchair, leaving the couch to me. Disgruntled I notice his manipulative tactic but cannot help that it works. I sit. I furrow my eyebrows. I leave my arms crossed. I feel somehow infantile and fragile and upset. That upsets me further.

He grabs the remote control, switches on the aged tv and flips through the channels until he’s found the news showing the site we left only about a quarter of an hour ago.  
The breaking news read “evacuation of Stark Tower successful *** leak of unknown gas in upper floor laboratory” on repeat. I gasp, my hands clutching at my stomach as a slight nausea overcomes me and I watch Tony flying across the muted television’s screen, trying to make sure that nothing would leak outside.   
I feel more than that I see the pointed gaze from my companion, watching me closely.

“We should be there and try to help, somehow.” I whisper and wringing my hands does nothing to make me feel better. Why did I listen to him?  
He makes a vague sound of disagreement and turns sharply, remote in hand, shutting the screen off. The small device clatters crudely from his hand onto the coffee table and once again he’s manipulated me to do as he wants me to, I realize too late, having turned to look at him, disturbed by the graceless gesture.  
He squints a little and his jaw ticks, it’s these small things that make it truly hard for me to differentiate. He’s trying to voice an appropriate explanation. I just know…  
But the inept nonsense he blurts then, makes my mind go blank and any thoughts diminish. It can’t be the truth. But it does make sense.

“[ба́ба](https://dict.leo.org/russisch-deutsch/%D0%B1%D0%B0%CC%81%D0%B1%D0%B0)!" He’s shouting in my face and I wonder when he got up to squat in front of me. He’s positively agitated, too. Wait, what was the question again?  
“No!” I utter, “I’m not! What makes you say that?” I’m close to tears now, feeling so helpless and angry all the same, mainly at him. When again did I decide it was well becoming to argue with the deadliest assassin in mankind’s history? It doesn’t matter though, I’m a mess now, not caring about the danger he could pose.  
"Не́т же!” His voice is gruff as he runs his right hand through his hair, closes his eyes and repeats in a language I can actually follow. “Yes, you are!”  
His piercing eyes penetrate mine.

“You damn well are, woman! Have known for about a week.”  
I slowly begin to understand the range of the circumstances and what consequences assumedly follow.  
“You let me win, asshole!” I screech as he watches me bemused by my obvious ignorance of more important matters. “I should have known something was up when I actually got the upper hand.” I groan. “I can assure you I did no such thing!” he weirdly pats me on the shoulder for comfort as I glare at him through my fingers.  
“No,” my hiss’ ferocity amazes me, “but the other you did!”

The exhale of a breath he’s been holding makes the whole situation even more peculiar. He’s afraid of me, has been the whole time, I notice astonished and can’t help the giggle erupting from my lips. Bizarrely tears run down my cheeks in sync. The bubbling laughter continues nonetheless, only fueled by the forlorn icy blues that watch me, clearly mortified.  
It takes a long while for me to calm down again but he’s still there and I’m somehow at ease with that. He’s not him, not lovingly caressing me, laughing alongside me, definitely not but he’s still there, caring, soothing, so different and yet the same man.

“When will you “switch” again?” I ask him, gesturing for speech marks and it makes me feel like smiling at him, so I do. He sits on the floor in front of me, quietly contemplating and then shrugs.  
“It’s not that simple.” He shifts somehow uncomfortably.  
“Try to explain then.” I need to hear his voice, cannot stand the silence. Moments pass and I’m sure he ignores my demand.  
“I’m aware,” he suddenly begins, “that on my inside there’s something imprisoned, screaming to be let out but certain events ask for a firmer handling then I can offer that way. I’m the same and at the same time not. I guess… you could say, this me takes over when the other can’t cope.”

The pause weighs heavy and I begin to fathom what he means.

“It used to be different when getting wiped of all memories was part of all this and… the bereft of any kind of free will makes a huge difference, too I assume. But now it’s only a question of preservation. I gather from previous accounts that it doesn’t happen voluntarily anyhow.”  
His sight is cast downwards, reminiscing whatever he can recall.

“Previous accounts?” I feel a little overwhelmed but he shrugs almost casually, if there only wasn’t this stiffness in all of his composure, revealing him.  
“It has happened before on missions, during the night after waking from dreams and…” He stops in mid-sentence and shakes his head a little as I frown.  
“It happens during emotionally straining moments of negative nature as well as those of positive nature - not always, I can deduce so much, but on several occasions.”  
I swallow hard and know exactly which moments he speaks of - those nights when I’d suddenly found myself not passionately making love to him but feeling like the prey of a cat. He’d played me like a musical instrument, tactically, calculating, non-smiling, non-forgiving, something bordering to brutal but only almost and just enough.

Not always, true; a lot more often than I would have guessed in my darkest dreams though. I understand in this moment why he was so desperate to stop me panting his very own name then. Why I had either found his hand on or in my mouth to muffle any sounds or why he’d ordered me to not call him anything but “Sir”. I had brushed it off as a kink, one I was only too willing to comply to, knowing it was quite usual practice during early 20th century. Besides I liked it.

He knows where my thoughts are headed, I can see it in the darkening of his features.

“Okay!” I exclaim a little breathless, only to let him know I understand and accept it.  
“O…kay?” his disbelief is obvious despite the emotionless recital of my own words.  
I nod, hoping he continues and he doesn’t disappoint.

“Imagine throwing a burning match into a hay bale. It lights up quickly, it burns intensely, as long as it needs to burn all off the hay to ashes and then slowly, smouldering it dampens until it extinguishes.” His explanation even makes kind of sense while I still cannot see how or when he’ll switch between “all of him” and “only what is needed right now to fight off possible death threats”. I also cannot see how I fit in the picture of a possible death threat but that is actually something I don’t want to overthink.

He understands my uneasiness, or rather is he aware of it. Just as I think so, he gets up and motions for me to come along. I comply… if not because I’ve just realized that compliance gets me further with this one, than because I’m too confused to argue.

The bed next door is nothing special and the sheets are protected under plastic foil that he rips off without much ado.  
“Sleep!” He orders and I’m too tired to protest, falling onto the bed, although I just know I’ll regret not having taking a hot shower later on, when the cramps will turn my legs into a hurting mess.  
My sleep is deep, dreamless, short and restorative, having me wake up what feels an hour or two later at the most, to the sweet feeling of a body, spooning me from behind and emitting a scorching heat. A relaxed hand strokes my belly carefully and a steady breath ghosts over my neck.

I can’t contain the smile that breaks across my features.  
“What are you looking so happy about?” he asks in that deep, sultry voice that has me doing anything for him.  
“N’thin’!” I mumble into the pillow before gathering the courage to ask him the question I’ve been dying to. “How did you find out?”  
“Huh?”, is his unintelligent reply.  
“You know…” I roll my eyes at him, “…that I’m pregnant!”

“Oh!”  
He takes a deep breath and nuzzles my neck before replying groggily.  
“You been o’due for a’most two weeks!”  
I blink, “Really now? I didn’t realize!”  
“Am aware o’ that now!”  
His laugh vibrates through his whole body and I feel the vibranium beneath my pillow sneak downwards until he pulls me even closer to his chest. I wasn’t done with him yet though.

“When were you going to tell me?”  
“‘Bout the circumstances?” He slowly seems to warp out of his deep thoughts.  
“No, dummy!”, I poke the hand resting on my belly. “About you! … I mean him! I… you know what I mean!”  
“Careful doll, I might want to spank some manners into you.” His growl is feral and I move my bottom, wiggling against him playfully before I tell him:  
“Please Bucky, seriously!”  
His hips turn away slightly, to ease the strain on his hardening erection before he answers.

“I only realized when I couldn’t remember how my handprint ended up on your bottom, the scratches on my back and your bloodied fingernails, the bruises on your thighs or the reason you would be laying next to me, thoroughly but inexplicably fucked. The marks on your throat…”

He hesitates and the fingers on my belly drum tentatively while gliding upwards to mark his point.

“You did seem wholly satisfied though and even happy, told me to not dare worry about it. Now, sometimes I can even remember part of what happens. I remember everything from today. Somehow… somehow I speculated that you know… knew!”  
“I didn’t!” I heave, “You scared the wits outta me. But it is fine now! Why is he… the way he is, anyway? I imagined in that state of mind you’d dispose off me quickly and run.” I giggle in amusement but his answer sounds not in the least entertained.  
“There’s no triggers anymore and no’ne ‘scuring the view with orders. I’m even sure that I… I mean he follows the simplest order of all, under these circumstances. It’s primal really. Embarrassingly so.”  
His hips turn once more, this time urgently pressing against mine, the sweat pants doing nothing to hide his arousal in the least.

“How so?” I ask with designate promise in my voice to which he groans, hips budging into mine.  
“Must I voice it so you’ll understand?”   
He knows the answer to his question but gifts me with one to mine anyway.

“Claim!”   
His lips on my collarbone feel hot and his teeth scratch my skin in just the right way as he holds me close.

“Mate!”  
The drumming fingers wander south but remain upon the thin material of my sports pants, covering my sex in a very simple, domineering gesture.

“Procreate!”  
Leaving the throbbing area between my legs, his hand runs across my belly once more. Careful as not to hurt, stroking and caressing it.

“Protect!”  
He leaves his administrations be and I groan in disappointment.

“You’re such a tease!” I try to regain some intelligence but he simply stands and reaches out a hand over my shoulder for me to take.  
“Let’s take a shower, babydoll! We both need one and after that I’ll take you out to eat anything you like, as much as you want to, now that you’re eating for two.”   
I hear the smugness thick in his voice.

“What’s with the tower?” I need to know.  
“All-cleared, Banner held a press conference sometime earlier, it was all over tv.”

…

“Guess what kinda gas it was!”, he practically sing-songs.  
“I don’t know.” I snort, getting up and pulling my shirt over my head, tossing it onto the bed, still sexually frustrated and hoping to bait him.  
“Laughing gas!”, he happily concludes, letting his pants fall curtly.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an older piece of work which I wrote before Infinity War was a 'thing'... besides, I'm totally gonna ignore that canon movie anyhow. Sorry not sorry. Also, I shoulda mention that I'm absolutely not educated in Marvel Comics seeing that I'm more of a DC bitch and such my whole knowledge is solely based on the MCU.
> 
> I do hope you enjoyed it anyhow. Kudos and Comments greatly appreciated. 
> 
> xoxo


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